Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
an' to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way
but the love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day,
he'd a drop of the creator every morn.

Whack fol the dah now dance to your partner
around the floor your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake.

One morning Tim got rather full,
his head felt heavy which made him shake
Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull,
and they carried him home his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet,
and laid him out upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet
and a barrel of porter at his head.

His friends assembled at the wake,
and Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tea and cake,
then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim avourneen, why did you die?",
"Will you hold your gob?" said Paddy McGee.

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job,
"Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
and left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage,
t'was woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
and a row and a ruction soon began.

Mickey Maloney ducked his head
when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed,
the liquor scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he rises,
Timothy rising from the bed
Saying "Whittle your whiskey around like blazes,
thunderin' Jesus, do ye think I'm dead?"
Finnegan's Wake
Irish traditional